LOS ANGELES _ The beach city boys used to throw on USC jerseys and run plays in the driveway, all thinking they'd one day make like Matt Leinart or Reggie Bush.
Kids' dreams, the usual.
Except one of them actually became a Rose Bowl hero and frontrunner to win the Heisman Trophy. And now he has to figure out what happens next.
"I never knew it was going to get like this," he says.
Sam Darnold arrived suddenly at fame, and he is puzzling over how to embrace it without losing his identity. So shortly before his 20th birthday, he steers his 2001 Highlander to a house not far from the beach, where on a backyard dirt court four barefoot guys are playing something that vaguely resembles a basketball game.
As he navigates new pressure, outsize attention and vanishing free time, Darnold often retreats to the beach lifestyle where he feels safe, with people he trusts, to remind him of who he is.
Plus, in this case, Darnold, who speaks like he's paying by the word, seems to be hoping his friends can explain all he's facing better than he can.
He sits down on the sideline next to a young man named Dean, who tries to explain how his friend handles stress.
Back at San Clemente High, their football team was down 14 points in a playoff game. Everyone was rattled as Dean, a receiver, sidled up to his angry quarterback on the sideline.
"Dude, you good?"
Darnold stared straight ahead and grumbled. He fell silent for a tick. Then he did something that startled his buddy.
"He looks at me and starts smiling," Dean says.
"And then he goes out on the field and we started winning."
Dean Licht shrugs and shakes his head. It's his best shot at explaining the unexplainable.
Darnold says nothing. With a broad chest and wavy reddish-blonde hair, he looks like G.I. Joe _ if Joe quit the service to live in a Volkswagen by the beach. He's dressed in his usual shorts and t-shirt, wearing blue Vans and high white socks. And he's already lost interest in hearing about himself.
"What even is this game, dude?" he says to the group near the hoop.
"The game is called Boners," he's told.
"That's not a very good description of it," Darnold says, looking annoyed.
A few of his friends stifle laughs. The easy jokes are part of why Darnold comes here as much as he can.
"I realized with all that stuff happening ... that I need to do stuff in San Clemente and with my friends more now, that I'm going to be more and more busy every day," Darnold says. "It just makes you not take it for granted."
Overhead, the sun has fried the marine layer, leaving only a few marshmallow-tufted clouds to interrupt the blue. Most of Darnold's friends spent the night here and are planning to call up some girls, watch a UFC fight, and do it again tomorrow.
Darnold savors these times but can't stay long. A few receivers are driving in for a pass and catch. As he watches his friends play, he takes orders for a pre-workout meal from his favorite sandwich spot, Board n' Brew, which has killer secret sauce and an expansive menu.
"Baja Beef, dude!" someone suggests. But Darnold is already contemplating an audible. He knows if he goes into the store he'll cause a scene. So he calls his parents. "Yeah, can you pick up Board n' Brew?" he says. "That would be awesome. Because we shouldn't go down there."
He pockets the phone and jumps into the game. The rules are fairly straightforward: One team of two shoots jumpers from around the key. The other team tries to tap in the misses.
The play starts casual, then suddenly becomes a real competition.
Darnold would be an excellent poker player, but this is his one tell: His facial features tighten ever so slightly. His brow lowers a fraction of an inch. His lips purse a hair. It's an expression _ The Face _ in all his old photos, and it appears most times he touches a ball.
This is what Darnold looks like when he gets serious.
He and Dean are losing, and Darnold mutters to himself after misses. Then, the shots start to fall.
Jake Russell, a high school buddy who is Darnold's roommate at USC, tries to rattle him. He suggests Darnold is only doing well because visitors are present, taking notes and photos for an article.
Darnold turns to the witnesses.
"Did you hear what Jake just said?" he asks. "He said when the cameras are on I do way better."
Darnold faces the basket.
"He acts like this doesn't happen every day."
The pen is ready. The camera is on.
He shoots. The ball arcs through the tattered net.
